


When All These Things Become Clear

by anodyneer



Category: White Collar
Genre: Best Friends, Bonding, Feels, Future, Gen, Happy Ending, Relationship(s), Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 01:45:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anodyneer/pseuds/anodyneer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The future holds many things for four old friends, and a day on the beach becomes a look into the past as Peter and Neal confront the truth about their friendship and what they've meant to each other. (Major thanks to elrhiarhodan for the awesome summary!) Future fic set in 2027.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When All These Things Become Clear

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thanks to tpdnly on Twitter for unknowingly giving me the idea for this story when she wished for a happy ending for Neal, and many thanks to the #wcwu chat ladies for their encouragement and help! Since I’m not JE, I don’t have to figure out how Peter gets out of the "In the Wind" situation, so I only hinted at it vaguely. This is my first fic in any fandom...finally.
> 
> Title is from "Clear" by Stir.

**Late September, 2027**

Neal sat at the edge of the large beach blanket next to Peter, breathing deeply, taking the crisp ocean air into his lungs. As much as he loved the city, it was nice to get away from the hustle and bustle, the fumes and the noise, the hectic pace. He leaned back on his hands and stretched his legs out in front of him, his bare heels resting on the sand. The cuffs of his khakis were rolled up, and his white linen shirt ruffled in the gentle breeze. He looked more like he belonged back in Cape Verde than in Cape May, but he’d put that dream to rest long ago.

Peter was sitting up beside him, his arms resting on top of his bent knees, toes dug into the sand. Seeming content and completely relaxed, he watched as Elizabeth and Sara walked down the beach, searching the detritus line for sea glass or other interesting finds as animated chatter passed between them. He was wearing a green polo shirt and jeans and smelled faintly of a mixture of sunblock and a cologne that he usually only wore for special occasions. A vacation at the shore was apparently such an occasion.

As Neal stole a glance at the other man, he couldn't help thinking that the years had been very kind to Peter Burke. Still fit and healthy, Peter had showed no major signs of slowing down in his mid-sixties. There were a few more lines at the corners of his eyes and below his lower lip, and the creases in his forehead had deepened, but he looked a good decade younger than his driver’s license said he was. Instead of turning the bland gray that Neal had assumed it would, Peter’s brown hair was highlighted with streaks of a stunning silver-white, working their way back from his temples. Elizabeth loved it, and even Neal had to admit that it gave Peter a more distinguished air. 

A similar color had also made its way into Neal’s own hair, but he’d been seeing it in his stubble for years and had fully expected it. Something else he’d gotten from his father. He found himself eyeing it suspiciously in the mirror some mornings, especially since he’d turned fifty.

Other than a jogger and a single surf fisherman off in the distance, they were the only people occupying the isolated beach. During the summer months, it saw its fair share of tourists, but three weeks into the off-season, it was quiet and peaceful. Peter had mentioned that this particular beach disappeared during high tide, the water coming all the way up to the grassy dunes. That, plus the fact that it was somewhat hard to find, likely contributed to the lack of traffic.

With the rhythmic crashing of the ocean waves providing a soothing soundtrack, Neal reminisced about how much had happened since the first time he’d met Peter Burke. They’d been through a lifetime’s worth of excitement over the years, and the man who was once his nemesis was now his closest friend. Not only that, but they’d actually become business partners in their own security consulting firm. He chuckled at the absurdity of the situation – or at least at how absurd they would have found it back when Peter was Neal’s handler and Neal was barely able to _be_ handled. 

“What?” Peter’s gravelly voice cut through his thoughts. “Neal?”

“Hmm?” Neal focused his attention on the man beside him. “Just thinking back to our early days.”

“Oh, really?” Peter managed to stifle a smile but couldn't keep the amusement from his eyes. “ We've come a long way since then, haven’t we, James Bonds?”

Neal grinned mischievously at him. “And to think it all started with a security fiber for the Canadian hundred hitching a ride on your favorite suit.”

“God, not the mildly perturbed Canadians!” Peter shook his head. “And that suit was a classic.”

“A classic blunder. Come on, Peter, you always deserved better than Brooks Brothers. You look so much better in tailored suits.”

“I was a federal agent with a Brooklyn mortgage. My wardrobe was sensible and affordable.” He fixed Neal with a pointed stare. “My suits weren't free like yours, remember?”

“Touché.” Neal thought for a moment and then broke into his trademark smile. “Hey, do you remember what you said to me the first time you saw me wearing the Devore?”

Peter ran his index finger absently over his deep philtrum, his brow furrowing for the briefest of moments before finally chuckling as it dawned on him. A hint of blush crept into his cheeks.

“I told you that you looked like a cartoon.”

“You were jealous of my new digs. Not the wardrobe, but definitely the apartment.”

“Hmm.” The grunt came from deep in Peter’s chest, and his eyes lost focus as he went back to that time in a mind that was still sharp from decades of crime-solving and crossword puzzles. “Maybe a little bit. Mostly about the coffee, I think.”

“June’s Italian roast!” Neal’s eyes gleamed. “I haven’t had that in so long. We need to stop in and see her sometime.”

Peter nodded in agreement, his thoughts still somewhere far away. “How old is she now?”

“92, maybe 93. Moz would know.”

“She’s going to outlive us all.”

“At the rate she’s going, yeah. Still pretty clever, too. Her latest hustle is gin rummy. Don’t let her talk you into a game unless you plan on losing.” He smiled at Peter, who returned it, his attention finally returning to the present.

“What did you lose?” Peter knew him too well.

“A ’97 Diamond Creek Cabernet…and about half of my pride.”

“Christ.” Peter shook his head, but he was still smiling. “I knew she was ruthless from the first time I met her.”

Neal sighed wistfully. “You know, it’ll soon be twenty years ago that you came to pick me up for my first morning as your CI.”

“Don’t say that.” Peter’s brow furrowed. “It makes me feel old.”

“You _are_ old. _We_ are old.” 

“Oh, no. See, that’s elder abuse, and I don’t have to sit here and take it.” With a raise of his eyebrows and a mock look of indignation, Peter put a hand on Neal’s shoulder and pushed himself up, standing and stretching. 

Neal couldn't help laughing at the comment. He watched as Peter surveyed the scene – old habits – and checked to see where their wives were. Satisfied that they were safe, he hunched over and rested a hand on his hip near the small of his back before starting to shuffle slowly toward the nearby stone jetty. His exaggerated theatrics only made Neal laugh harder.

“Milk it for all it’s worth, Gramps.”

Peter turned briefly and wagged a shaking finger at him before stopping near the jetty. Neal couldn't help laying back on the blanket and laughing until he was nearly breathless. He couldn't remember the last time he’d laughed like that, or even if he ever had. He laced his fingers under his head and looked up at the sky, blue and white and beautiful.

It had taken him so long, so many years of running and dreaming, to realize that he had everything he needed in New York. Peter had told him time and again that he had people who cared about him, but even after everything they’d done for him those first several years, he still yearned for what he thought was the good life. Running the perfect con, reaping the rewards, and disappearing on the wind to some faraway paradise with no U.S. extradition treaty – all of it haunted his dreams at night.

It wasn’t until Neal’s father came back into his life – and then framed Peter for the murder of Senator Pratt – that he started to see things in a very different way. The pain that whole ordeal had caused him had been a revelation. It showed him how Peter must have felt every time he had to chase him, worry about him, or get him out of an endless assortment of bad decisions. He’d been devastated that not only had Peter, the man who’d come to mean so much to him, been arrested and falsely accused, but that it had happened as a direct result of his relationship with Neal.

From then on, as he finally started to comprehend how much they’d sacrificed for him, he’d felt a deeper and more meaningful connection with Peter and Elizabeth Burke. _They_ were his true family, as were June and Mozzie, Diana and Jones, and Sara Ellis. His beautiful Sara, who had flown away to London just when he needed her most.

As always seemed to happen when his family stuck together, yet another horrible situation resolved itself in the end. The bond they’d always had became even stronger while clearing Peter’s name. Neal’s mental paradigm shift cemented what would become a lifelong partnership between the two of them, both in business and in friendship. It had even brought Sara back into his life, though that took a little longer than expected. After spending years chasing the good life, he’d finally come to realize that it was staring him in the face the whole time. Once he opened his mind and his heart to that fact, everything else had conveniently fallen into place.

With a satisfied sigh, Neal sat up, his eyes settling briefly on a ferry in the distance as it made its return trip from Delaware. He turned to look at Peter, who was still standing beside the jetty, his eyes trained on the terminal across the canal. Another ferry in the fleet was powering up in preparation for departure; Neal couldn't see it from his vantage point, but he could hear the hum of its electro-diesel hybrid engines churning away. He pushed himself up and padded over to stand next to Peter.

There was a small township park directly across the canal from them, just a parking area, a couple of small pavilions, and some benches for watching the ferries and other boats. Next to the park, the ferry terminal gleamed in the sunlight, a blue and white oasis. 

Peter took a deep breath through his nose, letting it out slowly in a serene hum. He turned and cocked his head at Neal, a curious but peaceful smile on his face.

“Back when we first met, did you ever think we’d have what we have now? Because I sure as hell didn't.”

Without waiting for an answer, Peter turned and started walking back toward the blanket, hands in his pockets. As Neal followed, he caught sight of their wives, who had made it well over halfway to Sunset Beach before finally turning back. Sara and El were used to taking long daily walks around Larchmont, where both couples had taken up residence once the business took off and they could afford it. Neal and Peter’s former FBI colleagues had teased them endlessly at first about buying homes on the same block in the affluent neighborhood, but it worked out well for them to be able to watch out for one another, a habit that had become so ingrained that neither of them could shake it.

They sat back down on the blanket, and Neal shook his head.

“No, I didn't, to be honest,” he finally answered. “The two of us in business together? I don’t think anyone could have seen that coming.”

“Mmm.” Peter looked over at him, a smile playing on his lips. “El did.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah. She knew I was going to retire as soon as my 20 years were up and I could get my pension. I was still pretty disappointed with how they handled the whole Pratt thing. So, a month or two out, she starts dropping hints. ‘Neal said he’s thinking about starting a business – security consulting.’ ‘Do you think maybe he’ll need some help?’ ‘Someone with your background and experience would be good at something like that, wouldn't they?’ I swear, it’s all I heard for weeks.”

“She’s good. Blatantly obvious, but good.”

Peter nodded and took a long swallow from his bottle of water before putting it back on the corner of the blanket near his shoes. He brushed a few drops from his upper lip with his thumb, then raised an eyebrow at Neal.

“She an expert at persuading me to do something while making me feel like it was my idea all along. I wasn't as convinced about your business as she was, though. Figured you’d be freelancing and globe-hopping for the rest of your life.”

Neal glanced away, watching a small flock of sanderlings as they dodged the ebb and flow of the surf. After a moment, he shrugged and looked back over at Peter. “You weren't the only one. It was nice at first, being off-anklet and only answering to myself. It got old after a while, though. I…” He paused, taking a sip from his own water bottle before putting the cap back on and twirling it idly on the blanket. “I missed you.”

The confession came so suddenly that Peter thought he might have imagined it. His jaw dropped and he stared at Neal, waiting for some sort of confirmation. Instead, Neal looked away, swallowing hard. They sat in silence for several minutes, Neal squinting at the horizon and Peter watching him closely.

“I missed it all,” Neal finally continued, his voice unusually soft. “But if I had to be totally honest with myself, I missed you most of all. Outside of being my handler, you were a lot of things to me, Peter – a mentor, a partner, a friend. When I worked for you, I had stability in my life. I didn't appreciate how much that meant to me until the tracker came off and the FBI decided they didn't need me around full-time anymore. I know it was only a couple of years, but…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

Peter reached out and squeezed Neal’s shoulder gently, then rested his arm over the other man’s shoulders. It was an uncharacteristic gesture from a man who was deeply caring on the inside but a bit gruff on the outside. Smiling, Neal leaned against him, the contact giving him the strength to continue. He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, but his voice was steady when he spoke again.

“I wanted to have that stability again, and I needed to show Sara that I could give her what she wanted and provide for her. You know, legally.” He leaned back and flashed a sly grin at Peter, who stifled a laugh. “That’s when I came up with the idea for the business. I knew if I timed it right, I might be able to get you on board from the ground up.”

“Wait, you planned the whole thing?” Peter pulled away, still keeping a hand on Neal’s shoulder, but looking him in the eyes. “And did you plant the idea in El’s head so she’d hound me about it until I said yes? Sounds suspiciously like a con to me.” He tried to look wary but failed miserably, his cheeks caving as he fought a smile. 

Neal immediately shook his head and chuckled. If anyone else had said it, he probably would have been offended. He knew Peter was teasing him, though, and he also knew the answer to the question.

“No, Peter, I didn't con you into working with me. I _hoped_ you would; part of me was terrified you’d say no.” When Peter’s eyebrows shot up, Neal shrugged. “I mean, I thought you’d say yes, but it wasn't a given, and I didn't know if I’d be able to do it without you.”

He paused, glancing at Peter to gauge his interest. Peter nodded his encouragement but said nothing. They’d been in business together for around ten years and had known each other for nearly twenty, yet Neal had never really opened up about his reasons for settling down and starting the firm. In fact, he didn't think Neal had ever opened up to him this much at one time, except maybe the night Peter had given him full immunity to talk about his history with Vincent Adler. 

“I guess I hoped you’d go into the business with me because I owe so much of what I have now to you.” Neal looked down at his feet in the sand, suddenly feeling self-conscious. The breeze blew his shirt collar up against his jaw, and he brushed at it absently.

“Back when we first started out, you gave me a chance to be a better person. Hell, I didn't even know that’s what I wanted at the time. I don’t know what you saw in me, but you never completely gave up on me. No matter how many times I messed up or ran, not even after…what happened with Pratt.” The last few words trailed off into a whisper. After taking a deep breath and another sip of water, he continued.

“You were the first person in my life who really believed in me. I wouldn't have admitted it back then, but I needed that in my life. I mean, look at me – I’m married, I have a nice house and a successful business, and I’m selling some of my own paintings. Since you did so much for me, I wanted to return the favor. I guess I needed to prove to you – and to myself – that I could actually be the person you always seemed to see in me.”

Neal finally looked back up at Peter. “You had faith in me, Peter. I can only hope I've shown you that it wasn't misplaced. I’m the man I am today because of you. I don’t know if I've ever truly thanked you for that, so…” He stuck his hand out. “Thank you.”

Stunned, Peter took Neal’s hand in his own. His firm handshake belied the sudden surge of emotion inside him. He felt like he should say something, but he knew he wouldn't be able to speak without his voice breaking. Looking up at Neal with tears in his eyes, he simply nodded. 

Neal let go of Peter’s hand and put his own hand in the middle of Peter’s back, moving it slowly up and down, his thumb running lightly over the other man’s spine. Peter found it incredibly comforting, and he started to relax.

“Neal…” he eventually managed, his voice a raspy whisper.

“Yeah,” Neal said softly, flashing a milder version of his trademark grin. “I know, Peter. Me, too.”

Neal’s hand moved to Peter’s shoulder, and he pulled him close. Surprisingly, Peter mimicked the gesture, putting one of his arms around Neal’s back and joining in on the hug. 

Peter cleared his throat, finally finding his voice. “Look at us. Jesus, Neal, we’re turning into a couple of sappy old men.” 

Neal laughed, relieved that the gruff Peter he knew and loved had started to return.

“Speak for yourself. I’m only fifty, and I still feel like I’m in the prime of my life. You’re…well, not fifty. If you listen really closely, I think you might hear mandatory retirement calling.” Neal raised his eyebrows matter-of-factly. 

“Keep running your mouth. In my old age, I might forget to invite you to come along next time.” Peter grinned, his eyes lighting up. 

Neal briefly considered another sarcastic retort, but their wives were approaching, each of them clutching a small bag laden with whatever treasures they’d managed to cull from the sand.

“What are you two up to?” Sara asked, taking in the sight of the men with their arms around each other. 

“Just talking about the good ol’ days.” Neal smiled up at her and started to pull away from Peter.

“Wait!” El stopped him quickly, motioning for him to stay where he was. She pulled a slim camera from her pocket. “I have to get a picture of this.” 

Neal settled back in beside Peter, and both of them smiled for the photo. As they sat there, completely relaxed on a beach in southern New Jersey, Neal flashed back briefly to another time they posed so Elizabeth could take their photo. They were dressed to the nines for a sting, and El had jokingly referred to it as a prom picture. Though it had been taken sixteen years earlier, the framed photo still held a place of pride on the Burkes’ mantel in their Larchmont home. A copy of it, similarly framed, hung on a wall in the living room of the Ellis-Caffrey residence as well. There had been plenty of photos of them taken since then, particularly as the business became more successful. The “prom picture,” however, had been the first. Every time he saw it, Neal was reminded of how far they’d come since it was taken.

“We’re coming back for the sunset this evening, right?” Sara asked, sitting down beside Neal on the blanket as El took her place beside Peter. The departing ferry caught their attention as it passed by in the canal, its horn cutting briefly through the peacefulness of the scene.

“The tide will be too high by then,” Peter finally replied. “We’ll watch it from the cove.”

Sara nodded and leaned against Neal, her head resting on his shoulder. They fell into silence, all of them enjoying the solitude that a beautiful day on an out-of-the-way beach could bring.

\----------------

After spending the rest of the afternoon relaxing, the four of them ate dinner at the Washington Inn, then headed back to the home they’d rented on Sunset Boulevard. Across the road from the house, a trail cut through the nature preserve to Cove Beach. It didn't take long for them to make their way out to the beach, and they put down their blanket nearly an hour before sunset. Though there were plenty of people at the other end of the cove, very few of them had made their way up to the area near the preserve. From their spot, they had a great view of the lighthouse and ocean, and of course, the sun hanging low in the sky.

As Sara wandered the beach nearby with her camera, wanting to find some good angles for sunset photos, Elizabeth sat between Peter and Neal on the blanket. She snuggled against Peter and kissed him. He put his arms around her and let the kiss deepen as he pulled her close. It wasn't until Peter started trailing his fingers lightly across El’s back that Neal cleared his throat. 

“I don’t know whether to tell you to get a room or ask what I can do to help.”

El cracked up, her lips curving against Peter’s more reluctant ones as the kiss ended. Peter shifted his head to the side and threw a half-hearted glare at Neal over El’s shoulder.

“What?” Neal shrugged, feigning innocence. 

El ran her index finger over Peter’s jaw and across his lower lip, bringing his mind back to her. When he tried to catch it in his lips, she pulled it away quickly, mouthing the word _later_ and smiling.

“Mmm. Promise?” he murmured.

El nodded, giving him a sly smile before turning her attention to Neal.

“So, Sara told me you sold two more paintings last week?”

“I did. Well, one the week before, and the other just before we left to come here.” He tried to sound casual, but the pride showed in the way his eyes lit up.

“Wow, isn't that great, honey?”

Peter grunted in reply, still pretending to pout about his interrupted make-out session. In reality, he was glad Neal was still doing well with his originals. He’d spent so many years forging the artwork of others that it had taken him years to find his place once he started creating works of his own. Though he worked in several mediums, his real talent – and his muse – could be found in painting.

Rather than cranking out new work left and right, Neal spent quite a bit of time on each piece, from concept to finish. There were times when he went weeks without completing anything, but when inspiration hit, it always culminated in something breathtakingly beautiful. Some of his work had been shown at various galleries around the city, and he’d gained a bit of a cult following, a fact that both amused Neal and fed his ego. Since he wasn't a prolific artist, his paintings were starting to become collectible. A Neal Caffrey original was apparently very worth the wait.

El gave Peter an exasperated sigh. “He thinks it’s great, too,” she told Neal. “Which ones did you sell?”

“The only two completed ones I’d had left, ‘City in the Sand’ and ‘The Flight of the Raphael.’ Same collector bought them both. I think he’s up to four now.” Neal grinned at them. “I have a groupie.”

“I’m not surprised,” El replied. “They were beautiful, sweetie. Weren't they, Peter?” She gave Peter a nudge, and he nodded, though his attention seemed to be elsewhere. In fact, Peter was listening and knew exactly which paintings she meant.

Most of Neal’s art was contemporary, often featuring landmarks of New York City. At the same time, there was also an ethereal element to each piece. All of them were based on events that had happened in his past.

‘City in the Sand’ was an homage to Neal’s time in Cape Verde, when he’d built an elaborate model of the Manhattan skyline out of sand on the beach. Though Peter never asked for the whole story, he was sure it had something to do with Maya, the woman Neal had been seeing during his time there. In the painting, the sky was dark and lightning flashed far off in the distance as the waves washed up dangerously close to the sand structures, which were illuminated by a string of lights. As with everything in his life, even Neal’s sand castles were way over the top. Upon studying the work closely, Peter had discovered a figure hidden in the clouds – a raven-haired woman dressed all in white, her hair and gown billowing behind her. A ghost of Neal’s past, perhaps.

‘The Flight of the Raphael’ was a view of Manhattan, the East River, and the Queensboro Bridge as they might look from atop one of the Roosevelt Island tram cars. Though the sun lit up the sky, there was a shroud of fog enveloping an approaching tram car. Barely visible through the fog was a figure dressed in black, sitting astride a white horse that had just leapt from the tram car and was flying through the air. It could have been Saint George, or it could have been Neal George Caffrey. Though he’d examined the painting at least twice while it was in progress, Peter couldn't tell if the figure was wielding a sword or a cardboard mailing tube.

“Peter?” El’s hand on his leg brought him out of his reverie. She and Neal were both staring at him; while El was obviously a bit disappointed, Neal’s expression was curiously hard to read.

“Hmm?”

“God, honey, could you possibly act any less interested?” She rolled her eyes at him. 

“What?” Peter held his hands up in surrender. “I was listening.”

“Peter! You were daydreaming.”

“About the paintings,” he confessed. “At least I was on topic.”

Elizabeth started to say something else, but Neal cut her off.

“Really?” The tone of his voice was as curious as his expression.

“Yes, really,” Peter replied with a nod. “The one from Cape Verde and the one from the Roosevelt Island tram. I don’t think I ever figured out whether that was you or Saint George on the back of the horse.”

Neal’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth, then shut it abruptly. 

“What? Now what did I do?”

“Nothing,” Neal said slowly, his voice soft and tinged with wonder. “I just… didn't know you ever gave my paintings any thought.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.” Peter was just teasing him, but when Neal suddenly looked down, he regretted the remark. “Hey, contrary to what you and my gorgeous wife think, I actually have a pretty deep respect and appreciation for your talent. In case you've forgotten, it’s what drew me to your case in the first place. If you hadn’t been so good, I probably would've passed on the case, and we never would have met. Your original work, though…that’s always impressed me the most.” He gave them a matter-of-fact nod.

El glanced at Neal, and when she looked back to Peter, her eyes were shining. Without a word, Neal stood and walked away, stopping briefly to give Sara a kiss on the back of her bare shoulder before making his way down to the water’s edge.

“Oh, honey,” El whispered. “That was so sweet. You never told him before, did you?”

“Sure I did.”

“Really? When?”

“I…” Peter tried to recall when he’d last complimented Neal on his artistic talents. He’d hinted over the years, but he couldn't remember actually coming right out and telling Neal how good he was.

“No,” he finally confessed. “I don’t think I've told him.” Something dawned on Peter, and he turned to stare at El, stunned. “ I've told him how good he was at forgeries, but I think this is the first time I ever said anything about his originals.”

El blinked away tears and pulled him close, whispering in his ear. “Go talk to him.” She gave him a firm kiss and then pushed him away, motioning in Neal’s direction.

With a sigh, Peter slipped off his boat shoes, stood, and walked down to where Neal was standing. The younger man was staring at the horizon line near where the sun would later set, his eyes fixed on what looked to be a large cargo ship. The waves lapped at his feet.

“Wishing you were on that ship?” Peter asked, gently resting a hand on Neal’s shoulder. “I’ll bet they have a spectacular view of the sunset from there.”

Neal nodded but said nothing. He swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand and took a shaky breath. 

“Look, Neal,” Peter started, but Neal cut him off with a shake of his head, holding up his hand.

“You’re right,” he whispered. “We really are turning into sappy old men.” His red-rimmed eyes finally looked over at Peter, and he smiled. “Both of us.”

Relieved, Peter returned the smile. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Neal gave a satisfied nod. “I think it’s a little bit of both, by the way.” When Peter’s expression turned puzzled, Neal’s smile broadened. “On the back of the horse. When I was painting it, sometimes I was sure it was me, and other times, I could have sworn it was all about Saint George.”

“Ah.” It was Peter’s turn to nod, and he gave Neal a knowing look before letting his eyes wander to the lighthouse and the red-roofed nun’s retreat nearby. “I meant what I said back there.”

“I know.”

“I’m not sure why I never told you. I guess I just assumed you knew.” Peter looked over at him with a sheepish grin.

“I may have, deep down. It helps to hear you say it, though.” Neal shrugged. “My original work is something that’s really special to me. Took me a long time to find my place after figuring out who I really was. You were a big part of that, and I guess I hoped you’d approve. Or maybe be proud of me. Something…I don’t know.”

Peter’s eyes searched Neal’s face. “I do approve, and I’m very proud of you. I couldn't _not_ be. I mean, everything you've done has been amazing. It’s like renaissance and modern art got together and had a magnificent love child.”

Neal’s chest tightened briefly, but he couldn't help laughing at Peter’s choice of descriptors. “Magnificent love child? Wow. I don’t know what to say.”

Peter blushed, running a hand through his wind-tousled hair. “Yeah, yeah…so I’m not a poet.”

“No, you’re not, but I appreciate the sentiment. So you won’t be totally bored out of your skull if I talk about art with you occasionally?”

“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Peter replied playfully. He squeezed Neal’s shoulder. “We should get back so we can watch the sunset with the girls.” The glowing yellow sun was hanging quite low in the sky, bathing everything in a dark reddish hue and turning the distant cargo ship into a shadowy apparition.

Neal nodded and turned to face Peter, a smile settling on his lips. “Thank you again, Peter. I feel like I should say something more eloquent, but I’m not sure I could top ‘magnificent love child.’”

Peter laughed, a carefree and contagious sound, and Neal had to join in. They turned and headed back toward the blanket. 

“You know,” Peter said, “maybe someday, El and I will be lucky enough to have a genuine Neal Caffrey original hanging in our living room.”

Neal paused, staring at Peter for a moment. When Peter turned back and gave him a questioning glance, Neal shook his head and motioned for him to go on. He followed Peter back to where Elizabeth was waiting, and they took their places, one on either side of her. Sara soon joined them, sitting on the other side of Neal, her camera still at the ready but momentarily forgotten.

As the four of them watched, the sun started to slip out of sight. The southern tip of New Jersey had unobstructed views of the sunset, and this was easily one of the most beautiful ones the four of them had seen. When the last little sliver of sun dipped below the horizon line, El turned to kiss Peter, and Sara did the same to Neal. It was their tradition, whether they were in southern New Jersey or Seychelles.

After the sun was gone, the sky started changing yet again, eventually settling into bands of dusky purple near the horizon, with pink above it, then orange and yellow, and finally back to dusk again. Within a few minutes, the strobe in the lighthouse came on, its intermittent flash setting a leisurely pulse that seemed to beat in time with Neal’s own. 

His mind latched onto the symbolism of the majestic lighthouse, and he realized that the reason he enjoyed seeing it so much was that Peter had first introduced him to it, and it reminded him of the other man. Peter was the one constant in his life, his light in the darkness, the beacon who always led him back home no matter how far he managed to stray. 

Neal pulled his gaze away from the lighthouse, and it fell on Peter Burke, sitting on the blanket with his arm around his wife. 

_Maybe someday, El and I will be lucky enough to have a genuine Neal Caffrey original hanging in our living room._

He knew how much Elizabeth liked his work, but he’d never allowed himself to hope that Peter might someday want one of his paintings. He smiled, an idea starting to take shape in his mind as he studied the way the twilight colors reflected on Peter’s face. His chest ached, and he had to swallow hard against the lump that had formed in his throat.

El quickly leaned forward to get something from her beach bag, and just as suddenly, Peter was staring back at him. As his eyes caught Neal’s, a smile crept onto his face. There was peace in that smile, and an understanding that Neal knew only came with a relationship that spanned nearly two decades. They’d known each other all that time, yet so much had been revealed on this single day at the beach.

In Peter’s eyes, Neal saw a deep and profound love…the same love that he was sure was reflected in his own.

Then just like that, Sara mentioned something about wine on the sundeck, and the moment was gone. Elizabeth seconded the idea, and within minutes, they were packing up and heading back to the house to enjoy the beautiful evening and post-sunset sky from there.

\-------------

**Christmas, 2027**

Christmas Day was a fairly quiet affair for the four of them, as it had been for years. They always had a larger get-together with close friends on Christmas Eve to exchange gifts and socialize so that they could spend Christmas relaxing and having a nice quiet dinner together. As Neal and Sara had hosted the previous year, it was Peter and Elizabeth’s turn this year.

They’d all had a wonderful time the day before, reuniting with some of those who had meant the most to them over the years. Mozzie brought June, of course, as he did every year. Though he never officially set up permanent residence anywhere, he’d been living in Neal’s loft at June’s house since Neal moved out. He’d always loved the place, and it allowed him to take care of June…when she’d accept the help. At least once a month, Peter and Neal stopped by for a boy’s night of drinking and cards, and it almost felt like old times. Moz no longer showed any distrust for Peter Burke, though he still occasionally referred to him as “Suit,” which always got a laugh.

Diana Berrigan also made the trip to Larchmont for Christmas Eve, along with her wife, Teri. The two had met shortly before Diana took over Peter’s post at the FBI, and they’d been married for nearly eight years. Between her work and home life and theirs, Diana didn't see Peter and Neal very often anymore. Their work paths crossed occasionally, and they tried to get together a few times a year to catch up, but it seemed to become more difficult with each passing season. Diana always came to the Christmas Eve gathering, though, without fail.

Clinton Jones was joined on the long drive up from Annapolis by his girlfriend, Vivienne. When Peter retired and Diana was promoted, Jones had been reassigned to the Baltimore field office to head the counterintelligence division. Five years ago, he’d been run down by a fleeing suspect in an SUV. The assault left Jones with permanent nerve damage, and he wasn't able to pass the reinstatement physical. Realizing that a protégé of Peter Burke was too valuable to let go, the FBI kept him around, but he never worked in the field again. He said, however, that the injury was the best thing to happen to him because he’d fallen in love with the most beautiful nurse at the rehab center. Jones had pulled Peter aside to tell him that he planned to propose to Viv later that evening at the Top of the Rock; he was certain she’d accept.

After a Christmas Eve full of lively celebration, Christmas itself was peaceful. A light snow had fallen overnight, and the morning sun made the powder sparkle like diamonds on everything it touched. 

Neal and Sara had crashed in one of Peter and Elizabeth’s guest rooms after the large gathering. The four of them slept in and spent the morning preparing a small traditional dinner while chatting about the previous day’s festivities. Jones had texted Peter with the news that Viv had indeed accepted his proposal, so they were one of the main topics of conversation.

They ate dinner early in the afternoon and eventually ended up lounging in the Burkes’ living room in front of a crackling fire, sipping wine and reminiscing about past holiday celebrations. Peter sat at the corner of the sofa with Elizabeth leaning against him, while Neal and Sara cuddled on the loveseat. The Burkes’ chocolate lab, Joe, rested on the floor near Peter’s feet.

“Honey,” El said during a lull in the conversation, twisting in Peter’s arms so she could look up at him. “Do you know what happened to the book about Boccioni that I borrowed from Neal? I meant to give it back to him earlier in the week, but I couldn't find it.”

“Hmm. If that’s the one with the colors everywhere, I think I put it in the study. It’s been here so long, I thought it was one of yours.”

El and Neal exchanged a look at the comment about the colors, but El nodded. “That’s the one. Do you remember where in the study?” Peter was the one who used the study the most, and it was what he liked to call an organized mess… _his_ organized mess.

“I’ll get it,” he said, stretching his arms back above his head. “I need to get up anyway or I’m going to fall asleep here.” A bit reluctantly, he slid out from behind El and stood. El playfully swatted his ass as he went, eliciting a growl from Peter and a laugh from Sara. Just before he turned down the hallway, he thought he saw another look pass between Neal and El, and Neal stood to follow him.

“I know exactly where it’s at,” he called back over his shoulder, “because I remember wondering if - ”

The words caught in Peter’s throat as he entered the study. There, propped up on the chair at his desk, was a large rectangular object wrapped in the kind of classy wrapping paper that Neal and Sara always preferred.

“Read the card first.” Neal’s voice was soft, just over his right shoulder. Peter whirled quickly, his eyes wide, and almost collided with the younger man.

“Neal? What…”

“The card,” Neal prompted again, pointing to the white envelope attached to the wrapping paper. 

With a puzzled frown, Peter walked over to the chair and pulled on the envelope, dislodging it as gently as he could. He removed the card and realized immediately that the winter scene in black ink on the cream-colored stock had been sketched by Neal’s own hand. Grabbing his reading glasses from the desk, he rested them on the end of his nose before flipping the card open and reading the message written in the same ink in a neater version of Neal’s usual scrawl.

_Peter –_

_A very wise man and dear friend once told me to do the right thing and let the pieces fall where they fall. I never told him this, but I took those words to heart. It may have taken me years to start living them every day, but once I did, I realized just how far his advice could take me. I’ll always be grateful for that shared bit of wisdom._

_This man was – and still is - the most important influence in my life, and I am a better person because of him. I can only hope he knows how much I love and respect him._

_With deepest gratitude,  
Neal_

When Neal rested a hand on his shoulder, Peter let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He tried to blink away the tears in his eyes, his thumb swiping roughly at the one that managed to escape.

“Open it.”

Peter nodded slowly, his trembling hands reaching for the large package. He took his time with the taped edges of the wrapping paper, not quite trusting himself to not drop what was inside. When he was finally able to slide the paper away, he gasped out loud at what it revealed.

It was one of Neal’s paintings, housed in a dark wood frame. He usually caught glimpses of Neal’s works-in-progress when he was over at their house, but this was one he’d never seen. The beauty of it took his breath away, and the tears that had threatened a moment ago were now coursing unabashedly down his cheeks. 

There were two men in the foreground near the bottom of the painting, sitting on a blanket on a beach. One of them was of a slighter build than the other, and he was wearing a blue shirt, a dark vest, and black pants with a fedora perched atop his dark hair. The larger, broad-shouldered man beside him was dressed in a white shirt and gray suit pants, and a matching gray jacket had been discarded on the blanket behind him. His arm was draped across the smaller man’s upper back, his hand grasping his shoulder in a protective way. 

Just to the right of center, a lighthouse towered over them, bearing the familiar daymark of the one in Cape May – a cream-colored tower and red lantern. Both men were gazing up at it, and the version of Neal in the painting was pointing to it.

It was just before sunset, and the sky was a brilliant gradient of colors – wide bands of amaranth, vermilion, and crimson. The water that stretched below it was steel blue, highlighted by the glow of the setting sun.

Barely visible in the sky on the left side of the painting, Peter could make out a ghostly line of desks that looked vaguely familiar. As he squinted through his tears, he realized it was the bullpen from the White Collar division, as seen from the railing outside his office. He hadn't seen the place in years, but it was a view he’d never forget.

The sky on the right side held a similar apparition, one he immediately recognized as the exterior of their company, Lassen Security Consulting. (Neal had insisted on the name as an homage to his favorite of Peter’s old FBI aliases.) The lines were so faint that someone viewing the painting from a distance might not even see them, but from this close, they were unmistakable.

At the top of the painting, above the sun, the sky was splintered into large shards, the lower ones sharing the vivid colors of the sky, the uppermost pieces colorless outlines. They all appeared to be cascading down to assemble the unbroken sky below them. 

A small gold plaque affixed to the bottom of the frame was inscribed with the words, “Reflections of Gratitude” By Neal Caffrey, For Peter Burke, December 2027.

Peter ran his thumb over the inscription before carefully setting the painting down on the desk. After fumbling off his reading glasses, he turned to Neal and pulled him into an ardent embrace. Though he barely made a sound, Peter’s shoulders shook and his breathing was ragged.

Startled by the unexpected rush of emotion from a man who usually kept his feelings pretty well contained, Neal slowly moved his hands up to Peter’s back. He’d hoped Peter would like the painting, and he had confidence that he’d conveyed what he wanted to with it, but he hadn't thought it would bring a response like this. He hands traveled lightly, soothingly over Peter’s back.

“Thank you.” The words whispered into the shoulder of Neal’s turtleneck were still shaky, but he could tell that Peter was starting to come around. After taking a few breaths that felt cleansing under Neal’s hands, Peter let go and took a small step back. He wiped at his face with the back of his hand before his watery eyes finally looked up at Neal.

“It’s beautiful,” he said. “Neal, I…” He shook his head and attempted to smile. When it didn’t quite work, he sighed and shrugged. “Christ, look at me. I’m sorry I got so…”

“Sentimental?” Neal offered with a grin. 

“Sentimental?” Peter repeated. “How about blubbering idiot? I can’t even put two sentences together.”

“You just did.” Though he chuckled, there was concern in Neal’s eyes. As was his habit, he tried to lighten the mood. “And now you and Elizabeth have your own Neal Caffrey original. Or magnificent love child. I’m not sure which.”

Peter’s eyes brightened as he recalled the conversation on the beach months ago. “We do, and you've outdone yourself. It’s amazing.”

Neal glanced down at his feet, feeling a blush settling in on his face. When he looked back up, Peter’s eyes met his.

“And what you wrote…” His voice failed again. Frustrated, Peter cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. Neal had seen the move many times over the years, and it made him smile.

“I guess I always hoped that something I said to you sank in, made a difference.” This time, Peter was able to return the smile.

“Peter, _everything_ you said made a difference. I know there were times when it seemed like I wasn't listening…”

“Lots of those.”

“Kept you on your toes, didn't I? I was listening, though, and filing away your bits of wisdom and advice until my life was stable enough to use them. It wasn't until we were talking at the beach a few months ago that I realized I never really told you how much that meant to me.”

Peter nodded. “We did clear up a few things that day, didn't we?”

“I don’t know why we didn't do it years ago.”

“Hmm.” Peter’s brow furrowed, and he gave Neal a resigned look. “Sappy old men.”

“Ah.” Neal looked down at his loafers, leather and expensive and something that was only a part of the life he had now. A life that was possible because Peter Burke had accepted his deal and put some faith in him.

Neal walked to the doorway and could hear their wives talking in the living room. El had helped him set up this whole thing, and she knew how much it meant to him to present the painting to Peter in a private setting, just the two of them. Sara, of course, had agreed.

Satisfied, he walked over to the built-in window seat and sat down, motioning for Peter to join him. They sat there, shoulder to shoulder, the winter sun bathing them in light and warmth.

“I meant every word of what’s in that card.” Neal’s voice was soft, but strong. “When I turned fifty, it hit me that since I don’t expect to see one hundred, I've lived over half of my life already.”

“Neal…”

“Please, Peter, hear me out. I promise not to make it any more morbid than that.”

“Don’t – it’s Christmas, and I’m just about ready to stop riding the emotional roller coaster for today.”

Neal had to laugh at that, shaking his head. He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender and gave Peter a sideways glance. When the other man nodded and looked at him expectantly, he continued.

“There were a lot of things I needed to say, but I wasn't sure where to start. That day on the beach, you opened it up for me, and I took advantage of it. Since then, it’s been on my mind that there were some other things I haven’t said. So…” He gestured to the painting. “…this happened.”

Peter nodded again but said nothing. They sat silently for a moment, the sun casting their shadows on the floor in front of the window seat.

“I know we don’t always say things like this. I mean, we’re guys.” Neal ran his palms down his pants legs. “I, uh…”

“You said it in the card.”

Neal had been concentrating so hard on how to say what he wanted without making Peter uncomfortable that the other man’s statement caught him off-guard.

“ We've known each other for almost twenty years, Neal. We don’t need to beat around the bush.” Peter leaned back and looked Neal in the eyes. “I love you, too. I haven’t said it nearly enough, but it’s true.”

Neal’s eyes widened at Peter’s bluntness, but a slow smile spread across his face.

“In fact, after Elizabeth, I don’t think there’s anyone I love more. You’re my closest friend, a better business partner than I ever thought you’d be, and even after all these years, you’re one of the few people who can still surprise me.” Peter nodded toward the painting.

Neal was still too shocked to speak, which made Peter beam with satisfaction. Giving the younger man a ‘so there’ nod, Peter pulled him into a brief but firm hug, which Neal returned.

“Now, if you’re up to it, I think I hear some pie calling to us from the kitchen.” Without waiting for an answer, Peter stood and headed toward the doorway. He paused and looked back expectantly, and Neal slowly stood and walked over to meet him.

“Neal,” Peter’s voice was much softer this time, almost a whisper. He laid a hand on Neal’s shoulder. “Thank you. Really, thank you. The painting, what you wrote in the card…it means a lot. It really does. The problem is, if I keep thinking about it, I’m going to turn into a weepy mess again, and I don’t think either of us wants to see that.”

“Probably not.” Neal shook his head with a grin.

“And besides, pie. Three different kinds.” 

“Yeah, definitely better than the whole weepy mess thing.”

With a satisfied nod, Peter slipped his arm around Neal’s shoulders, and the two of them started back down the hallway. 

\---------------

By the time they rang in the 2028, the Burkes’ very own Neal Caffrey original was hanging above the sofa and was the centerpiece of their living room. Every time Neal saw it, he couldn't help feeling a surge of pride. When he’d first presented his offer to Peter nearly two decades ago, he never could have imagined living the life he now had. He was a free man with a wife and dear friends who loved him, a beautiful home, a successful business, a side career in art, and a comfortable life.

Even more importantly, he had the security that came with knowing that all of it was attained legally. There would be no more running, looking over his shoulder, or worrying that he – or someone he loved – would be harmed because of something he’d done or someone he’d crossed. He could finally relax and live the life he’d always secretly dreamed of living.

Life was good, and Neal was convinced that no matter what happened from here on out, he already had his happy ending.


End file.
